


dont regret it. i'm still here

by trees_so_thin



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chaos!Fitzroy, M/M, i guess, im allergic to tagging anything because i dont want to remember what ive written. so there, is porn with angst a thing. because this would probably be it ., they fuck kind of but im allergic to describing it so its vague. is that okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26006128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trees_so_thin/pseuds/trees_so_thin
Summary: fitzroy's given in to chaos. argo gives in to fitzroy. fitzroy takes too long.
Relationships: Argo Keene/Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	dont regret it. i'm still here

**Author's Note:**

> did anyone ask? no. am i too embarrassed to write them actually fucking? yes. is there walls of technically important discussion of chaos fitzroy in here amongst them being horny? yeah. anyway. there were like 2 assignments i could have been doing today. ALSO dont mind me switching tenses halfway through it felt right okay. and dont mind chaos fitzroy's pronouns being they/them sometimes. it feels more right to use they than he at certain points. dont ask. AND DONT ASK ABOUT THE HOURS THING SDKJFNDJFKDNFJKD it felt narratively better than naming a specific amount of time and also i lose braincells everyday

-He smelled like blood and sweat, despite neither visible on his skin; the metallic, strong notes hung around him, so very different to the clean, vanilla scent the man he replaced used to carry. It reminded Argo that Fitzroy, as he understood him, was no longer there behind his ever-whitening eyes.  
Nothing about his body had changed, save for extra streaks of white through his lengthening hair, and the leeching of the purple from his irises, and the lack of care he seemed to be taking with personal grooming; stubble on his chin and upper lip growing thicker, and no moves made to freshen the usually pristine coat of coloured nail polish on his chipped fingernails. Physically, Fitzroy was still in perfect shape. He just had a few extra wounds that didn't seem to be healing here and there, and his skin was beginning to tear.  
However, while appearance wise, not much was different; his presence and physicality had morphed into something far more alien to Argo. He carried himself taller, with a sway in his step, and his grins were wider, colder, and more blood-curdling than anything else. There was often a violent, chill glint in his eyes. He was more animated. He was more hands-on.  
He was strong.  
He wasn't afraid to get personal with Argo.

-Argo wasn’t complaining about that; while he found Fitzroy’s reluctance to initiate anything without Argo’s prompting endearing, the fact that this new side of him was unapologetically able to start things on his own whims was exciting. It felt to Argo like Fitzroy was finally giving him some of the attention that he had desired from the half-elf for a long time; and while it was certainly purely clinical, detached, physical and sexual attention and not emotional affection, anything was good enough for Argo after pining for Fitzroy to show any kind of acknowledgement of the situation for so long.

-In his understanding of Fitzroy’s whole...deal, Argo surmised that Chaos had finally managed to get the barbarian to let go of his psychological limits; enabling him to utilise his strength, magic, and impulses without his rational brain holding him back. That was all well and good from a battle perspective, but it made interacting with Fitzroy challenging, especially because he seemed to have far more of Chaos’s traits than his own. Especially down to their voice. It snaked out of Fitzroy’s mouth in a sinister way, twisting and curling disgustingly through Argo’s ears whenever he was addressed. Tonally, Fitzroy sounded the same, but his inflections and vocal quirks were all but obliterated by the smooth drawl of the chaotic benefactor.  
Personality wise, Fitzroy had also taken on a lot of what Argo understood to be Chaos. It was unnerving, but as before, the bolder side of him was alluring to Argo. Sometimes, though, if he thought about it, it felt wrong; like someone else was piloting Fitzroy’s body, and Argo felt unclean for giving in to their advances, like he was taking advantage of Fitzroy without his rational consent. 

-Sometimes the “real” Fitzroy slipped through, and he looked at Argo with clarity and fear in his eyes, and Argo would feel a throb of regret for the things he’d let happen without thinking, but Fitz was never there for long, quickly quashed by the sharp grin of his chaotic self. Argo longed for the uptight asshole he had dubiously crushed on to make a comeback, but was resigned to potentially never seeing that side of him in full again.  
This was what was left.  
The rips and tears in the skin on his face and hands grew wider and rawer by the day, white, shimmering flesh peeking through.

-And every day, Fitzroy got bolder with Argo.  
He started off slow at first, no more than a sneaked kiss here and there in public, strong makeout sessions at home (initiated wordlessly by Fitzroy, something he would usually never ever do); but eventually his actions got coarser and closer. Argo usually tried to hold himself back from the reactions his body cried out to give, out of respect for the Fitzroy he assumed was locked somewhere in this Fitzroy’s mind, but sometimes it got too much for him. Argo was slightly ashamed, but Fitzroy seemed determined to get Argo to breaking point eventually, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was nearly there. 

-Two more days of this and Argo would be ready to shatter. 

-Day one. Fitzroy edges him out; ignoring him for most of the day, an almost imperceptible brush of the hand against his chest here and there. That night, Fitzroy does nothing, initiates nothing, says nothing.  
It’s unbearable for Argo. especially after the weeks worth of attention he had received previously. His whole body aches, conditioned to Fitzroy’s touch at night, not used to feeling so solitary.  
Fitzroy goes to bed, and Argo doesn’t follow. He sits there in the dark of the sitting room for a while after, unable to move, nursing the burn in his chest. 

-Day two. It’s a weekend, and Argo wakes up alone in his room, the sun high in the sky, the Firbolg already off on his daily stables and forest visit.  
He can already feel a stirring of anxiety in his stomach, and as much as he wants to hole up in bed and hide away from the world at that moment, warm in his blankets, Argo forces himself to get up as quickly as he can. Knowing he's alone in the dorm room with Fitzroy, he doesn't bother to get dressed, awkwardly walking into the common chamber in only his underwear and a singlet, feeling as though he's moving through thick sludge, so pronounced are the nerves sitting in his torso, curling within him like snakes.  
Fitzroy is already there at the table, dressed and ready like it was a full school day, nonchalantly reading the newspaper. He almost looks like his pure self, and Argo is taken aback, but then he looks up and locks eyes with the genasi, and Argo sees the cold distance in them.  
"Argonaut," he says curtly by way of greeting, returning to his reading.  
Argo feels disgusted not only by the use of his full first name but also by the way they said it; pointedly and slow, like they knew it hurt him to hear it.  
"I- it's Argo," he rebuts, still standing frozen on the outskirts of the room, uncomfortable in his own skin, small worm-like sensations crawling underneath his flesh.  
Fitzroy pays no mind, still choosing to ignore Argo, still forcing the tension in the air up to a height that Argo couldn't bear.  
Suddenly, uncontrollably filled with an emotion he can't describe, somewhere between desire and anger, Argo manages to break free from his anxiety induced freeze frame as he strides forward and slams the table, pulling the newspaper away from Fitzroy. Fitzroy looks up at him as he leans over the table, nose to nose with the half elf and trembling from tension.  
"Stop ignoring me. If you're going t' get me to break and fuck ya without guilt, do it now, because this is the only chance you'll get, and if ya string me out this long you'll miss it."  
Argo's words hang in the air, loaded with tension, and he starts to feel pain in his clenched jaw as he stares down the other man, who seems entirely nonplussed by his statement, gazing back at him with glassy eyes.  
"I thought you were stronger than that, Argonaut. Don't you want him back?"  
It wasn't usual for Fitzroy to mention his old self, and Argo is shocked for a moment as small memories of him come filtering back in and he sees elements of him in Fitzroy now. The way he was squaring his shoulders, and the dimpled lines set on the corners of his mouth, the tilt of his head--that was undeniably the Fitzroy he loved, so unlike the Fitzroy he was having to learn to live with.  
It's difficult to see those features on this man.  
"You're doing this deliberately," Argo hisses, scared by the way his gut clenches when Fitzroy stands up from their chair and grabs him, moving in a way he hadn't seen them move for a long time as he's manhandled away from the table and up against the wall. "You WANT me t' feel bad about this, don't ya? Just when I w- was gettin' u-used to ya- I was prepared t' accept ya, and now you remind me of Fitz, and I don't wanna do this-"  
He's cut off by Fitzroy roughly grabbing his right upper thigh, fingers pressed hard over a small scar he had burned into it weeks ago in some kind of possessive fit. Argo flinches hard, having somewhat pushed that brand to the back of his mind, not wanting to think about how it marked him as belonging to the other Fitzroy.  
Fitzroy's hand moves up Argo's leg and he squirms away as best as he can with nowhere to go, trying to avoid being touched anywhere intimate.  
This is unhealthy, he thinks. This is forceful. This isn't right.  
"Fitz," he gasps, grabbing Fitzroy's hands and holding them away from him, struggling against the limitless power of his muscles, "You've fucked up. This is just manipulation now, and yer scarin' me, and I'm not comfortable with it. I need ya t' stop. Be one or the other you, I- I can't be reminded of him without thinkin' I'm doing something wrong t' him." 

Surprisingly, Fitzroy actually heeds him and backs away, traces of himself fading away until they stand there again, back to the person they had been lately. Argo stares, having hoped that the old Fitzroy would have come back, but knowing that was impossible at this point. Some days he still wondered if he could somehow kiss it better and bring him back, but this version he had grown fine with as well. As long as they weren't grossly emotionally manipulating him like that.  
"I apologise for that," Fitzroy says slowly, looking at the floor. They seem genuinely remorseful for their actions, which is odd for him, considering how there seemed to be no more limits on personal shame or reservations in them anymore. Regardless, Argo is relieved, taking what just happened as simply a lapse in Fitzroy's better judgement.  
"It wasn't my intention to do that. Sometimes I just can't handle the parts of him that are locked away and he slips through. If it makes you feel weird about this I'm sorry."  
Argo accepts the apology, although he still feels off about Fitzroy's actions, unsure if the explanation he afforded was truthful. Regardless, this is what he's stuck with, and he wants to make it work.  
The air calms, and Argo and Fitzroy leave it at that for the rest of the day. Argo is somewhat disappointed by the dissipation of sexual tension between them, but the mood had been killed so thoroughly that he's okay with it not coming back.  
They go to bed separately again, and Argo feels nothing. 

-Week three.  
Time passes by, and the incident grows ever further from Argo's conscious mind. Fitzroy builds up rapport again, and Argo mindlessly accepts it, knowing if he thinks about it too long he'll shut off again. It's fine. He accepts that this is all there is. Fitzroy gives Argo close attention once more, and his aching heart drinks it in like a starving man.  
Fitzroy keeps him close, touches him closer, and worms their way into his mind.  
Argo starts to feel again. 

-Week three, day four.  
Argo wakes in Fitzroy's room, having crashed last night after being teased particularly hard. He moves around slightly, not feeling any warmth next to him, and surmises that Fitzroy had already woken up.  
Sitting up and catching sight of himself in the mirror, Argo takes note of the dark blue marks littering his skin, most notably clustered around his neck and chest. The sight brings back a rush of memory; Fitzroy’s lips on his body, soft grazes of teeth, sensations of heat and sweat.  
He flushes with embarrassment, feeling a little odd recounting the situation; he preferred to leave things like that in the moment and separate himself from whoever that was that so readily responded to Fitzroy’s advances.  
There’s a clatter from the other side of the door, and Argo jumps, a spike of anxiety hitting him in the chest so strongly he feels like he was suddenly stabbed. Turning to look at the door, he sees Fitzroy walk in, shirtless and unkempt, the trails and tears in his skin seeming more prominent especially lately, more unnerving colours shining through.  
He’s trailing his jacket behind him, having fetched it from the sitting room, and discards it over the chest on the foot of the bed as he walks over to the cupboard and roots around for a shirt. Argo doesn't know if he’s simply being ignored or if Fitzroy has completely forgotten he was even there in the first place, so he clears his throat cautiously. No response earns another cough, and when that doesn’t work either, Argo sighs and gets up from the bed.  
Approaching Fitzroy, Argo feels pricks of static electricity against his skin, the sensation growing stronger the closer he gets, until he finally gets within range of the half-elf and touches his arm, which sends a huge spike of electricity through his fingers and gives him instant pins and needles in his hand.  
“Ow, shit,” he mutters, shaking himself. Luckily, that gets Fitzroy’s attention, and he turns to Argo, shirt bunched up in hand, one eye glinting a little more white than the other.  
“It’s early, Argonaut,” is all he says, eyeing the hickeys he had left on the genasi over the week, reaching out and rubbing over a few with this thumb.  
Argo’s breath catches, and he looks out the window through the crack in the curtains.  
“Are you sure you want to go there this early in the morning? The sun isn’t even properly up yet.”  
“It- It’s fine,” Argo stammers, relieved that the electricity in Fitzroy’s fingers has died down to a soft prickle, anxious that the tension in the room is so palpable.  
That seems to be enough for Fitzroy, and he leans in with a grin, hand slipping down to Argo’s hip, discarding his shirt on the floor to grab Argo’s jaw. 

-Week three, day four, hour one.  
Argo won’t touch Fitzroy, out of fear of hurting him (his skin feels paper-thin and tears open when he moves) and inability to move his arms (pinned underneath him for far too long, approaching numbness). Also contributing is the fact that Fitzroy has been dancing around the issue at hand for the last hour, kissing Argo anywhere but the spots he knows to be sensitive, using his hands purely to hold him down as he kneels with legs either side of Argo’s torso.  
Argo is extremely overstimulated, under-fulfiled, and full of desperation at this point.  
“F-fitz.”  
“What, Argonaut?”  
Argo groans at the sound of his name.  
“Can y- please-”  
Fitzroy sits up a little and stops pinning Argo’s arms down, allowing the genasi to free his hands from under his tailbone, which is a welcome relief, but the leftover pins and needles sensations are intensely uncomfortable. That’s quickly taken off Argo’s mind, though, as Fitzroy starts to slowly run his hands down Argo’s chest, small rough calluses at the base of his fingers catching slightly on scaly patches. Argo’s back arches at the touch, mentally willing Fitzroy to finally stop teasing and play with him just a little, but Fitzroy slyly avoids giving Argo any kind of release, letting his pinky catch on the edge of one of Argo’s nipple piercings, but no more.  
It’s an almost imperceptible tug of movement, but it’s enough to spike through Argo’s whole body with the amount of pressure Fitzroy’s built up in him, and he whimpers sharply.  
“Fitzroy-!”  
“Correct, Argonaut, although I’d prefer it if you used my full title.”  
Argo shakes his head, jaw clenched tightly, rendered unable to speak once more as Fitzroy sits back and sets a bit more of his weight on his stomach, where he was perched. The idea of calling Fitzroy “Sir” is too alien to him, and makes him feel just a bit too owned- possessed- by this more controlling persona. He’s a possessive man himself, but he doesn’t relish the feeling of being THAT tightly controlled.  
He’s pretty over the way Fitzroy is controlling him now.  
Tendons in his neck taut, core engaged, he manages to raise himself up from his lying position on the bed to look Fitzroy in the eye, hooking his right arm around the back of his neck to keep himself up, and grabbing one of Fitzroy’s hands with his own free hand.  
“I’m going to have to step in here,” he pants, sweat rolling down his forehead, aware of how tightly he was holding Fitzroy’s wrist, and the sensation of the skin peeling off underneath, but too riled up to care. “This is taking too long.”  
Fitzroy doesn't respond except with another cold smirk, leaning back against Argo’s knees (which are propped up to support him).  
Sensing Fitzroy isn’t going to fight this time, Argo gains confidence and manoeuvres Fitzroy's hand to his chest, holding it over his heart for a second. Argo’s heart throbs painfully with pent up emotions, and as he feels it throb against the skin of Fitzroy’s hand, he wonders if Fitzroy can feel how desperately he used to love him, even as he’s hidden away within his mind.  
He needs to toss those emotions away, though. That Fitzroy isn’t here anymore, and he’s trying to get his rocks off.  
Fitzroy gets the hint, and breaks his arm free from Argo’s grip to cup his hand over Argo’s left nipple, and Argo shudders hard, delighted to finally feel warmth and pressure over that one spot, but so over-aroused that it’s almost painful. He tries to speak, but no sound comes out except for a breathless squeak, which suddenly pitches higher as Fitzroy grabs a hold of the bud of his nipple and tugs.  
Argo nearly lets himself break right there.

-Week three, day four, hour two.  
Argo has managed to take control of the situation, and he’s got Fitzroy on the ropes.  
Somehow, in his chaotic state, he’s become less sensitive than he used to be, and no longer flinches at any touch in a place he isn’t expecting, but Argo has managed to work away at him and lay him bare.  
He looks down at Fitzroy now, red-faced and breathing heavily, sprawled on the bed underneath him; and has a moment of doubt, having never gone this far with the half-elf in any situation, but prepared to see it through to the end if he has to.  
“Argo-”  
He’s taken aback for a second to hear Fitzroy not call him by his full name for once, but it gives him a pleasant sense of familiarity.  
“What is it, Fitz?”  
Fitzroy moves his head, and Argo sees he’s looking at the clock on the wall. With a rush of horror, he realises that it’s still a school day.  
He doesn’t have classes until midday, but the clock tells him that it's getting perilously close to being too late for him to finish off what was happening with any sense of satisfaction.  
“You can skip,” Fitzroy drawls lazily, apparently already resigned to doing the same, sitting up and tipping Argo off-balance before holding his face and kissing the genasi gently.  
“I don’t wanna be kicked out for bein’ absent-”  
“I’m not letting you go anywhere before you manage to satisfy me,” he grins, some of the smoothness of Chaos drifting back into his voice, and the softness he had let in fading away.  
Argo wonders how much longer it was going to take to do that. 

-Time indiscernible.  
Argo isn’t aware of anything anymore, just the casual rushes of heat he can feel going through him at occasional intervals, and a vague presence that he assumes is Fitzroy. He feels like his mind resides in an amorphous fog, no more body parts left to be felt; everything on fire. Sometimes he can pinpoint the sensation of fingers, somewhere, but he can’t tell if they’re his own fingers at the end of his hand, or Fitzroy’s fingers on him. The only directions he can remember are left and down. The only colour he can see is white. The boundaries between him and Fitzroy are as fuzzy as his sense of self, and he doesn’t know if he’s somehow been absorbed into whatever the inside of Fitzroy’s mind was like or if they were even separate people anymore.  
Everything is confusing, and time stretches on forever.  
Then he compresses into one person again, dragged back into a conscious form for just long enough to feel the crest of the wave of pleasure that comes over him hit; strong enough to make his hips buck and his voice cry out, and he feels Fitzroy faintly exhale a breath that had been held too long.  
The fog clouds over him again for long enough that Argo doesn’t experience the next few minutes. 

-Argo wakes up again.  
He’s curled up under the freshly washed covers, clothed in warm pyjamas, his knees tucked into his chest in a foetal position.  
It’s dark outside.  
Fitzroy is sitting in an armchair on the opposite side of the room.  
Hearing Argo rustle around as he wakes, Fitzroy puts down his textbook and wanders over to the side of the bed.  
“Good sleep?”  
“Exactly how far did I go?”  
Fitzroy still isn’t clothed except for his underwear, and he gestures to the red marks Argo’s fingers have left on his hips. “Take a guess, genius.”  
Argo blushes deeply, ashamed of his actions, and glad that he still couldn’t recall any of the details.  
“I’m sorry.”  
Fitzroy leans over Argo and grins, light from the bedside lamp glinting off his pointed canine teeth and illuminating the large patch of raw, shiny skin on his cheek.  
“Oh, don’t be. You’re...skilled. I assume.”

Argo doesn’t want to know what that implies.  
He gets up a bit too quickly, and tries to exit the room as nonchalantly as possible.

“A- anyway! I’m going to go and, uh, the-”  
“Sure, sure. Argonaut.”

Back to the old full name.  
There’s a twinge in Argo’s chest. Maybe the old Fitzroy had been there for a while longer than he had assumed. He should have said something. He shouldn’t have just gone in without a word like that. 

“Too late for regrets, Argonaut.”

How can they read his mind so easily?  
Argo looks back at Fitzroy, perched on the edge of the bed. He smiles, a saccharine, non genuine smirk, and tousles his hair. No trace of the real him visible in there this time.  
Maybe they were just playing pretend to get him on side.  
Argo has no idea, and he has no desire to gain one, so he just sighs and turns away, leaving the room to make a cup of tea, leaving Fitzroy with one curt sentence. 

“Fine. Hope you enjoyed yourself.”  
Fitzroy holds there for a little while, remembering the feeling of Argo within and without him, and lays in bed, in the small divot Argo had left in the mattress. 

-He was more conscious than Argo knew, having somehow forced his way through the mental block that Chaos was enforcing to keep him from thinking with reason.  
He wasn’t upset about it. 

-Before sleep and chaotic influence slams into him once more and strips away his consciousness, Fitzroy thinks of Argo, considering how loving the genasi seemed to be towards him, even through the pain his other side seemed to cause.  
That’s comforting.  
He settles himself into bed, enveloped in Argo’s residual warmth. 

-Argo stands in the kitchen, cold and alone.


End file.
